Actions Speak Louder
by InvincibleEnigma
Summary: Shaw leaves the safety of the subway, forcing those that care for her to act. Set after 4x09 The Devil You Know.
1. Chapter 1

It was an evening like any other except she was no longer hidden from Samaritan. Shaw treaded an uncertain path through the dead zones in the city, drawing from the shadow map ingrained in memory. After a week camped underground with no hope of a new identity, she found herself sneaking out. Shaw could sit still while planning a sting; even trust someone to have her back while she did the shooting, but not this. Sitting at Harold's desk manning the computer while everyone else worked the numbers wasn't right. Couldn't The Machine give her a new identity? It certainly gave them to far less trustworthy people.

Thinking about a specific example made her blood boil. When she next saw the woman, Shaw was going to wring her neck. No one took her out like that. Especially not someone she had trusted with her back.

The former assassin skirted the edge of the sidewalk clad in black hoodie and pants, careful to keep her head down and her eyes peeled. This was a fairly safe neighborhood, and it was quiet. All she wanted was to order her own meal – Harold bringing her food was nice and all, but a girl had to do stuff herself – and then she would go back into hiding. Shaw kept close to the red brick wall on her right, avoiding the glow of streetlamps; she was about to cross the street when she noticed a figure out of the corner of her eye. Probably nothing but she turned away to be safe and was immediately pushed into the shadows by a blur of motion.

Shaw recovered quickly, drawing her gun and pointing it at her attacker. It was the last person she wanted to see: Root.

For one satisfying moment, Shaw kept her gun leveled at the hacker, intent plain in her eyes.

"Go," Root shouted. "You've been spotted." Then she turned and took down two of the approaching agents.

Shaw adamantly refused to do anything Root suggested, so she stayed and took out an operative of her own. Then Root was in front of her, blocking her field of vision completely, simultaneously pushing her down and firing behind her head. Shaw saw Root jerk as she took a bullet, but the hacker continued firing in all directions until their assailants were down.

"Go," Root yelled, louder this time and out of breath. "Car's at the end of the road."

Instead of obeying, Shaw grabbed Root and pulled her around the corner before slamming her against the wall. "What are you doing here?" she snarled.

"I don't know, saving you maybe?" Root gasped, and Shaw could see the hole in her jacket, along with the trail of blood already snaking its way down the fabric. Non-lethal, she noted.

"Did I ask you to?" she demanded, pressing Root harder against the wall, not even stopping when she hissed in pain.

"Do this later, Sameen." Root gritted her teeth, the words clearly an effort. "We need to move."

Shaw reluctantly released Root and dragged her to the car before shoving her roughly against the passenger door. "I'm driving."

"Be my guest." Root caught herself awkwardly and opened the door with a grimace. "I'm down to one hand anyway."

"Follow the shadow map. Head in the general direction of the subway. I'll tell you if there are Samaritan operatives to avoid."

Shaw didn't say anything as she put the car into gear and sped off. Root was silent too as she began applying pressure to the wound on her shoulder.

After a few minutes she directed Shaw to turn left and then right at an intersection. Despite herself, Shaw stole a glance over at Root: the hacker was breathing heavily and Shaw didn't like the pallor of her skin. "You okay?" she asked gruffly. "Seem to be losing a lot of blood."

Root gazed at her for a long moment before responding, and Shaw found she couldn't quite decipher the expression on her face. "One of the bullets nicked an artery," she finally said.

"One of the—" Shaw started. "She told you that?"

When Root didn't say anything, Shaw took one hand off the wheel and yanked her injured arm forward until she could see the back of Root's jacket. Another hole.

"Dammit Root, you knew you'd been hit twice and you let me handle you like that?" Shaw cursed under her breath.

"You needed to," Root said tiredly. "Better to get it out of your system."

Shaw gritted her teeth. "Soon as we get back, I'm taking a look."

"No," Root said adamantly, gesturing to a dark alley up ahead. "Drop me off there."

"Not happening." Shaw looked at Root incredulously. "You think I'm letting you bleed out in some back alley?"

"Didn't think you cared, Shaw." Root closed her eyes for a moment.

"I don't." Shaw shook her head, deliberately driving past the point Root had asked to be dropped off at. "But if I say I'll end you, I'll do it myself."

"Someone has to ditch the car," Root said stubbornly. "And you can't have a trail of blood leading back to the subway."

Shaw responded by locking the doors and speeding up. "I don't care if you have an identity change in that alley who's a patient in a hospital. I'm taking care of it."

Root opened her mouth to protest, but short of tasing Shaw while she was driving, there didn't seem to be another option. "Park two blocks down by the house with the weird plant," she said instead. "Car thieves are in the area."

Shaw allowed a small grin to cross her face. "Criminals. Gotta love 'em."

"Mmhmm." Shaw could see beads of sweat beginning to form on Root's brow. So when she finished parking the car in the designated location, she took a moment to study the hacker. "Do you need help?"

Root nodded, in the midst of tying a piece of fabric around her wounds. "Help would be nice." Shaw nodded curtly, killed the ignition and got out of the car. But by the time she reached the other side, Root had shifted herself over to the driver's seat and was starting the engine.

"What are you—?"

Comprehension dawned on Shaw's face, and she moved to stand in front of the car. "You're not going to run me over," she said, certainty etched in her features. "Cut it out, Root."

"Move," Root commanded, with one hand on the wheel, her face pale but determined. "I have to do this." In response, Shaw drew her knife and slashed one of the tires; and as Root stared in shock, the other woman picked the lock to the driver's seat and cocked her fist. "Sweet dreams," she whispered and Root knew no more.


	2. Chapter 2

When Root opened her eyes, she found herself on a hard table with a pillow underneath her head, and a cold compress beneath her neck.

"Good morning, Ms. Groves." Harold came into view beside her, a water bottle in hand. "How are you feeling?"

"Where…am I?" Root's throat felt like cotton and she coughed once. The action sent pain lancing through her shoulder, and Root remembered being shot and then knocked unconscious by Shaw.

"The subway station," Harold supplied helpfully, his glasses glinting in the light. "Specifically my computer table."

Root looked around and didn't see anyone else. "Where's…Shaw?" she whispered, a note of worry creeping into her voice.

"Ms. Shaw is asleep in the train car," Harold answered. "She told me to wake her if anything changed, but personally I think it would be better we didn't." He unscrewed the cap and placed the bottle next to her. "To say she was displeased when she walked in here would be an understatement."

"Is she…all right?" The Machine hadn't told Root whether Shaw would make it back safely if she brought Root with her. Conditional probability and the like.

"Ms. Shaw is fine," Harold replied, glancing briefly in the direction of the subway car. "But she said you lost a lot of blood."

Root decided not to tell him Shaw had almost been killed on the street. "Shaw did this?" she asked instead, looking down at her bandages.

"Yes," Harold confirmed, sounding slightly uncomfortable. "Although I must say, surgery is not high on my list of things to see again."

"Did I bleed all over your table, Harry?" Root didn't bother to hide her amusement.

"No, you bled all over the getaway car we were in," Shaw said from behind Harold, her voice a mixture of disapproval and anger.

"Ms. Shaw, I'd prefer if you wouldn't sneak up on me," Harold said, taking a step back.

"Can't help it if you don't hear my footsteps, Finch." Shaw moved to stand beside the table, her eyes trained on Root's shoulder. "Next time you try to run me over? I'm leaving you where you drop."

Harold said something about needing to work on the computer and went into the train car.

"In my defence," Root said, slightly embarrassed. "I was trying to escape, not run you over."

Shaw looked like she wanted to punch something. "You think you can just decide what's best for everyone? Show up, get in the way and then disappear?" Both women knew that wasn't what she was really upset about, but neither mentioned it.

Root closed her eyes momentarily, tuning out the pain. "I was protecting you," she said. "Only because of the circumstances," she added quickly when saw Shaw's eyes narrow. "But bringing me here wasn't a smart move."

"I didn't ask your opinion," Shaw retorted, her eyes hard and unforgiving. "And even if you hadn't come, I could have handled myself."

Root knew that wasn't true, but she let Shaw believe her actions had been unnecessary. "The getaway car?" she asked.

"Taken care of," Shaw said sharply. "You think I'm running amateur hour here?"

_Concern for your welfare isn't lack of faith, Sameen_, Root wanted to say, but she thought better of it, instead deciding to try and sit up.

Ever observant, Shaw placed a firm hand on her healthy shoulder, halting the action. "Stay down," she said, not unkindly. "You were right about one of the bullets nicking an artery. And there was only so much saline I had to give you."

Root stayed obediently still, until Shaw removed her hand. "There's somewhere I need to be."

"Seriously? The Machine's giving you instructions now?" From her position on the table, Root couldn't tell if Shaw was indignant on her behalf or angry with her. Perhaps both.

"It's important," Root said earnestly, then smiled. "And I trust your medical skills, Sameen."

Shaw rolled her eyes, and scoffed, "What can you do with one arm?"

Root thought about being truthful: that if she didn't change identities now and go where her new persona was supposed to be, she would be forced to stay underground for several days. In that time, Samaritan could discover how her exception worked – all it would take was one human operative finding her new identification and comparing it to the face of Samantha Groves that Greer had on record. She couldn't allow that.

"Don't worry, Sam; nothing taxing." Root had learned long ago that believable lies and manipulation worked much better than the truth, especially when you told people what they wanted to hear.

Shaw's expression clearly indicated disbelief, but she tossed a sling at Root anyway. "It's your funeral," she said, and an understanding passed between them. "I'm not stitching you up again."

"You've done more than enough," Root insisted, meaning every word. Then, allowing herself a moment of playful banter, she said with a seductive smile on her face, "Besides, I've been wanting to experience your needlework for awhile now."

Shaw shook her head, but moved to help as Root tried to sit up, surprisingly gentle despite the pent up frustration and unresolved betrayal Root knew she must be feeling. "Be careful," she said, sounding concerned for the first time. "No running. Rest if you feel tired. And keep it clean."

Root's smile grew as Shaw watched her fiddle with the sling for several moments, before losing patience and putting it on for her. "Whoever said you didn't make a good doctor just wasn't giving you the right patients."

"Whatever," Shaw said dismissively, throwing her an assortment of pills and dressings. "That should be enough. Although honestly Root, if you can stand on your own, I'll take my hat off." Root wasn't sure if she detected a slight smirk in Shaw's tone.

"Don't have faith in me, Sameen?"

"I took both slugs out, so I know how much damage was done," Shaw said, momentarily grave. "It'll hurt if you move. I'm not kidding."

"I'll be fine," Root said, holding her arm close, and deliberately ignoring Shaw's assessment along with the fact that dull throbbing had turned into sharp pain. "She says you did a good job."

Shaw stood back as Root carefully got to her feet, fighting off a wave of dizziness and nausea as she stood upright. She took a few steadying breaths, swaying only slightly as she took a step forward. "Could you get my long overcoat?"

Harold came into view as Shaw was draping the coat over Root's shoulders. Her injuries, Root was pleased to note, were hidden from view. "Should you be up so soon, Ms. Groves?" he asked, in a rare show of concern.

"I told her to lie down," Shaw chimed in, raising an eyebrow. "But apparently she has a mission of great importance."

Harold frowned, and Root remembered a conversation they'd had in a hotel room, about placing Her will before her wellbeing. "You do look pale, Ms. Groves," he said, pausing for a beat. "But if there's something you need to do." Harold gestured towards the exit in a way that sent Root right back to that day in the library, only things had seemed so much simpler then.

Root smiled. "I knew you'd understand, Harry," she said brightly.

Shaw rolled her eyes again, but as Root made to leave, she reached out and gave Root's sleeve a gentle tug. Their eyes met as Shaw began buttoning her coat, and in that moment Root knew: Shaw hadn't forgiven her for the drugging last time, nor would she openly thank her for interfering this time – in fact, she may never approve of her methodology, especially from the receiving end – but she'd begun to understand why Root had acted the way she did.

And that made what lay ahead bearable.

"Be safe," she said to both of them, turning to face the wind.


End file.
